


Two Ball in the Side Pocket

by aralias



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Chatting & Messaging, Community: trope_bingo, Epistolary, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pool Table Sex, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2013-08-26
Packaged: 2017-12-24 18:13:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/943080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aralias/pseuds/aralias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which some of Chekhov’s guns are found and fired (as it were). The one with the cyber-sex and the space!grapefruit and the pool table, except without the space!grapefruit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Ball in the Side Pocket

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Vanilla Ice Cream Or, The Ship Around the Corner](https://archiveofourown.org/works/198322) by [executrix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/executrix/pseuds/executrix). 



> I'm not saying this fic will make _no_ sense if you don't read the original, but it will make _more_ sense if you do. 
> 
> And I'm not saying I know _nothing_ about pool, but- no wait, yes, I am. Blame Wiki for the mistakes. 
> 
> The Blake and Avon here are a mix of my Blake and Avon and Executrix's as depicted in 'Vanilla Ice Cream', being neither one nor the other. Hopefully they are still recognisably still some form of themselves.

17.  
BENT ENGINEERS>MESSAGE BOARDS>PRIVATE MESSAGES  
_ALEXIS to RAMBLING WRECK:  
Have you ever had sex on a pool table?_

_RAMBLING WRECK to ALEXIS:  
You don’t still have to use this now, Avon. I know who you are. And where you are i.e. next door._

_ALEXIS to RAMBLING WRECK:  
I could say the same to you, yet here we both are._

_RAMBLING WRECK to ALEXIS:  
For some reason, I was nostalgic for the place we met. Fortunately, the feeling seems to be wearing off now you’re here._

_ALEXIS to RAMBLING WRECK:  
Memory going again, Blake? I’m fairly sure we met on the London, but ask Vila if you doubt me._

_RAMBLING WRECK to ALEXIS:  
Allow me some poetic licence, Avon. I allow you all sorts of things – to wear those disgraceful boots out in public, for example._

_ALEXIS to RAMBLING WRECK:  
I’d like to see you stop me._

_RAMBLING WRECK to ALEXIS:  
Interesting thought._

_ALEXIS to RAMBLING WRECK:  
Mm. Perhaps later._

_RAMBLING WRECK to ALEXIS:  
I’ll hold you to that._

_ALEXIS to RAMBLING WRECK:  
You’re not going to become nostalgic for the London, are you?_

_RAMBLING WRECK to ALEXIS:  
The prison ship where they killed six of my friends? No, I don’t think so._

_ALEXIS to RAMBLING WRECK:  
Good, because there’s nowhere to keep it._

_RAMBLING WRECK to ALEXIS:  
Hold three would be big enough, wouldn’t it?_

_ALEXIS to RAMBLING WRECK:  
By ‘hold three’ I assume you mean the wardrobe room._

_RAMBLING WRECK to ALEXIS:  
Mm._

_ALEXIS to RAMBLING WRECK:  
Not practical. It’s where I store my boots._

_RAMBLING WRECK to ALEXIS:  
Where you /used/ to store your boots._

_ALEXIS to RAMBLING WRECK:  
It’s where Jenna stores hers, too. You may be willing to risk my displeasure, but are you willing to risk hers?_

_RAMBLING WRECK to ALEXIS:  
... No, you’re right. The boots can stay._

_ALEXIS to RAMBLING WRECK:  
I’m almost disappointed. I would probably have enjoyed watching Jenna spank you... 

_RAMBLING WRECK to ALEXIS:  
I’m afraid you’ll never find out._

_ALEXIS to RAMBLING WRECK:  
Too late. I’ve changed my mind. I would have enjoyed it. 

...I hope you don’t need me to think about anything else for a while..._

_RAMBLING WRECK to ALEXIS:  
/Avon./_

_ALEXIS to RAMBLING WRECK:  
Don’t ruin it, Blake. It’s difficult enough to type with one hand._

_RAMBLING WRECK to ALEXIS:  
/Stop/ fantasising about Jenna._

_ALEXIS to RAMBLING WRECK:  
I’m not. I’m fantasising about you being beaten by a beautiful woman. Who that woman is is immaterial, I assure you. It’s still you on your knees..._

_RAMBLING WRECK to ALEXIS:  
I’d prefer the pool table._

_ALEXIS to RAMBLING WRECK:  
Well now, that can be arranged, too. /Have/ you ever had sex on one?_

_RAMBLING WRECK to ALEXIS:  
Not that I remember. As far as I know, I don’t even know how to play pool._

_ALEXIS to RAMBLING WRECK:  
Don’t worry. I’ll teach you... 

Come down to the crew room in half an hour._

18.  
“Pardon my presumption,” Blake said thirty minutes later, “but I thought that was clearly innuendo. I’ve brought lubricant. I didn’t think you were actually going to teach me to play pool.” 

He still felt curiously resentful of the pool table, which already looked like it belonged in the middle of the crew room despite the rest of the room being pale grey and the pool table being a hideous mixture of red, purple and green. If he had been asked earlier, Blake might have suggested that they paint it a sensible colour, like brown, but it was too late now. The table had become a finished object and everyone who’d made it was very proud of it the way it was. Blake wanted to be happy for them, but wasn’t, and being forced to recognise his own pettiness made him even less happy. The fact that Avon had invited him to (presumably) christen the table with him was something of a consolation, but given the choice Blake would have helped the others make the pool table and then fucked Avon in the shower afterwards.

Across the other side of the table, Avon – clad in silver – twirled his pool cue between his fingers. His teeth gleamed in the low lighting as he grinned. 

“I’m not teaching you to play pool. I’m teaching you how to have sex on a pool table.” 

“I wasn’t aware there was an art to it.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Avon said. He bent, drew back his arm and smoothly broke the triangle of racked balls. They skidded around the table, a yellow ball falling conveniently into a pocket, and Avon crossed around to Blake’s side. As he did so, Blake saw that he was wearing the aforementioned disgraceful boots over black leather trousers, which stretched pleasingly taut as he bent over the table again. 

“Five ball in the top pocket,” he said, glancing up at Blake, who obligingly raised his eyes from Avon’s arse to Avon’s face. 

“Fascinating,” he said. 

Avon sunk the ball he’d laid claim to and stood, studying the table. “Three ball in the left centre pocket.” He licked his lips in concentration and sunk the next ball. Presumably it was the three, because he crossed back and named another ball and pocket. 

This time, as he bent over, Blake stepped in and ran a careful hand over the protruding part of him. Avon didn’t visibly react but the cue ball did go wide of its mark. 

“Missed,” Blake observed as Avon straightened. 

Avon raised his eyebrows. “True,” he said, and stepped back as Blake tried to kiss him. “That means it’s your turn, Blake.”

Blake made a face and contemplated the green baize top and the coloured balls scattered across the surface. It was unfamiliar, but roughly comprehensible. Cue-technique aside, the game was just a geometrical problem. If you hit the white ball at such-and-such an angle and at such-and-such a force it would hit a coloured ball, which would hit the side of the table and rebound towards the pocket, striking the side of another coloured ball, which would perhaps be slightly more favourably positioned for the next shot. While he didn’t remember much about what he’d done in his free time before the Federation had wiped his memory, Blake did remember almost all his engineering training. He also remembered all his more recent life-experience on the Liberator turning that training to practical use in four-dimensional space. It occurred to him with sudden, mad certainty that he could probably beat Avon at this game, if not today then perhaps next week or next month. 

“Yours are the striped ones,” Avon pointed out helpfully. “And you’re supposed to strike them with the cue, not just glare at them until they move. That only works on Vila.”

“And on you,” Blake pointed out.

Avon grinned sharply. “In your dreams, Blake.”

“Yes, there, too,” Blake agreed. He pulled a cue from the rack on the wall and made to walk around the table to a supposedly better spot. He gave Avon’s arm a gentle push to nudge him backwards, out of the way, but Avon refused to be moved. Blake pressed further into his personal space, pushing against Avon with the rest of his bodyweight, and Avon held his gaze. Another push forward and Avon stepped back on one of his legs to brace himself, and Blake gave the battle up as lost and pulled away, laughing, circling the table until he was on Avon’s other side. 

“Well, you certainly showed me,” Avon remarked. 

“I don’t know what I was thinking of,” Blake said and nudged Avon slightly back towards the direction he’d come from, a move Avon accepted with a laugh. “I must have been imagining it.”

The area he’d now claimed was not the one that offered the easiest shot on the table, but it was still a relatively simple one, assuming he could get the cue to do what it was supposed to do. He lined it up with the white ball, resting the tapered end awkwardly on his left hand and holding the other at approximately the same distance Avon had held his. 

“Further back,” Avon said, coming round to adjust his grip. “Your arms are longer than mine.”

“Thank you,” Blake said, trying to sound sincere, rather than embarrassed. 

Either he’d got the tone right or Avon was used to ignoring his sarcasm, because he repositioned Blake’s other hand for him without saying anything. Then he stepped behind Blake to examine the angle of the shot. 

“Do you have to stand that close?” Blake asked, feeling Avon’s erection pressing distractingly into his side. 

“Oh yes,” Avon said against his neck, warm and amused. 

Blake ducked his head in a laugh and bent over the table, pushing back against Avon, who leant down with him, guided his arm back to about the right distance – and licked his ear as he brought the cue forward. Blake’s arm jerked. The cue hit the white ball too forcefully and it shot off the side of the table and rolled away on the floor. 

“ _Missed,_ ” Avon said wickedly. 

He wandered off to collect the lost ball, which had come to a stop under one the chairs. Blake gave him an incredulous look as he placed it back on the table next to one of the solid-coloured balls at the corner of the table. 

“That has to be cheating.”

“As it happens, it’s not,” Avon said, potting the ball easily. “Not that you’d know if it wasn’t,” he added with a grin. “But for reference – knocking the cue ball off the table is a foul.” He surveyed the table, which was crowded towards the centre with un-potted striped balls that seemed almost to be guarding the final two solids within their midst. “And if you commit a foul, I get to place the ball wherever I like. Unfortunately,” he said as Blake rounded the table to stand behind him, “hitting one of your opponent’s balls before one of your own is also considered a foul. So, you should get another turn any minute-”

“ _Not that one,_ ” Blake said impatiently as Avon began to line up the cue with the seven ball.

“It doesn’t make much of a difference,” Avon said. “I’m not going to hit either of them.”

“Not from over there,” Blake agreed, “but it’s not impossible to hit the purple one from over here.” He steered Avon around the corner of the table and indicated the far side of the table. “The white ball needs to rebound off that edge, quite forcefully-” Avon looked deeply incredulous, so Blake pulled a notebook from his inner pocket and began sketching the angles for him. “There’s a small gap towards the back of the group of striped balls. You need the white ball to enter from that side if it’s to have a chance of reaching either of yours first. To do that, it needs to rebound twice, with a very acute angle at-”

“Fine,” Avon said, “I’m not really interested in the specifics. Just tell me where you want the first rebound.”

Blake pocketed the notebook and stepped in close behind him, pulling Avon’s arm round until the cue was pointing at the right angle. “Just... _there,_ ” he said, moving his hand to Avon’s hip, so Avon could control the speed of the cue. 

Avon seemed to regard this as reasonable, and pressed back into him as he took aim. Although he wriggled slightly to allow Blake’s cock to rest in the cleft of his buttocks, he kept his attention on the table. Blake watched as he sighted along the cue and drew back his arm, and then slid his hand from Avon’s hip to Avon’s cock and squeezed. The cue ball shot off the other side of the table and bounced off the wall. 

Blake sighed. “Pay attention, Avon. That should have worked.”

“Pay attention?” Avon said, twisting in his grasp to face him. “Yes, of course. It’s my fault. I see that now. It has nothing to do with your well-timed grope.”

“I learn by example and repetition,” Blake said with a grin. He began to move away to collect the cue ball, “Now, I think it’s my-” but Avon grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and dragged him into a kiss. Blake dropped his pool cue and it clattered noisily to the ground as he helped Avon hoist himself onto the table. Once up, Avon wrapped his legs around Blake and pulled him in. The table was only slightly lower than Blake’s waist so Avon was now slightly taller than Blake, rather than slightly shorter. There was a brief moment of confusion as they readjusted the instinctive position of noses and lips, and then Avon’s tongue was in Blake’s mouth, marking out his territory. Blake’s fingers fumbled with the clasp on Avon’s belt. They had spent the last twenty minutes slowly flirting with each other and five seconds ago Blake had been quite ready to continue the dance. Now, though, Avon had made the move to turn the aching potential energy into kinetic and Blake felt almost desperate with need.

“All right,” he said, pleasantly breathless, “I’m happy to call it a draw.” He toed off his boots and clambered up after Avon, who swept various coloured balls towards the edges of the table and pulled Blake down with him. 

“Call it what you like,” Avon said, tugging Blake’s shirt up over his head and kissing him again. “That won’t change the fact that you failed to sink a single ball.” 

The pool table creaked ominously as Blake readjusted his weight and he looked up in alarm. “Should we-?” 

_“Ignore it,”_ Avon said, which seemed to Blake like a very reasonable suggestion, given that Avon was pressed underneath him and Avon’s hands were trying to divest him of his trousers. Blake pulled the lubricant out of his pocket, abandoning it by the edge of the table, and together he and Avon wrestled his trousers and underwear off him. Avon’s hand slid down Blake’s stomach to wrap around his cock, and Blake grit his teeth and pushed him away. 

“If you do that, I won’t be able to concentrate.”

“Can you ever?” Avon asked, running his hand back up Blake’s chest. 

“It’s difficult when you’re wearing these trousers, but I do my best.” The trousers in question were currently presenting a problem. In fact, how Avon had got them on was anyone’s guess because Blake could barely get his fingers in under the top edge.

“There are zippers,” Avon explained as Blake propped himself up on an elbow to get a better look at the opening. “Down the sides. They should come straight off without the need to remove the boots you’re so fond of.”

Blake located the left-hand seam and the zip hidden within it. “Where do you find these things?” he asked, pulling the zip down past Avon’s knees. “I’m fairly sure I would have noticed an everyday fetish-gear section in the wardrobe room.”

“I hid all the most interesting items while you were down on Cygnus Alpha.”

“Being imprisoned and flayed,” Blake said, drawing the other zip down as well to expose another thin, pale line of Avon’s skin.

“Some of us have to make our own fun,” Avon said with a grin. He raised his hips obligingly, so Blake could pull the trousers off him (he’d clearly decided to forgo underwear), and then tugged Blake’s backside down again with a booted leg around his hip. Skin to skin, Blake thought headily, feeling heat flare in him wherever he was touching Avon. Avon groaned luxuriously as their cocks were pressed together. Blake bit his bottom lip and – even though he was impatient for more than frottage, was impatient to be inside Avon – rolled his hips to see if he could get Avon to make that noise again. He could and Avon did, and Blake did it again and again until the table’s creaking under the sound of Avon moaning into his mouth became too distracting. Several of the loose pool balls had been displaced by the gentle rocking of the table and came down to congregate around Avon’s head and shoulders like colourful moon discs. Irritably, Avon shoved them away into a nearby table pocket and Blake laughed breathlessly and reached up for Avon’s tunic.

“Leave it,” Avon said. He pressed the lubricant into Blake’s hands. “ _This_ first. Then the rest of the clothes if you still care.”

Blake raised an eyebrow. “Desperate?” he asked, unscrewing the lid of the pot. 

“Yes,” Avon said. “Obviously. Aren’t you?”

“Oh yes.”

“Well, then, get on with-” His mouth tightened into a hiss as Blake pressed a slick finger into him, caressing the underside of Avon’s balls with the tip of his thumb. “ _It,_ ” Avon said, as though the word was an intake of breath. Gradually his body relaxed around the finger. Blake pushed Avon’s tunic and undershirt up as far as they would go and kissed Avon’s exposed chest, feeling the other man’s ribcage rise with a deep breath in. He curled his finger and Avon let out a rich, shuddery groan that echoed through his chest and made Blake’s cock throb harder. “ _Yes,_ ” Avon hissed, as Blake pushed another finger into him. He flexed his hips, working himself on the fingers inside him, his cock bobbing against his stomach. “Yes. Yes, that’s it, yes. _Blake-_ ” Blake pulled his hand back and began to fuck Avon slowly on his fingers, opening him up, making him ready. “Blake,” Avon murmured. “Blake, Blake, Blake-”

“More?”

“Yes,” Avon said breathily. “No,” he said, as Blake tried to slide a third finger in to join the others. “On second thoughts, Blake, just fuck me. I... don’t want to... keep you waiting.”

“How kind,” Blake said, keeping his voice steady. Gently, he pulled his fingers out and unthinkingly wiped them on the green baize. “All right. Turn over.”

Avon grinned insolently. “No.”

Blake raised his eyebrows. “Do you want me to force you?” he asked, wondering suddenly whether Avon had been serious about the flaying, and whether he would enjoy it if Avon had. 

“Not at all,” Avon said, accelerating quickly back to mockery from reckless wantonness now he wasn’t being fingered. “I want you to put this location to proper use. That means you get off the table, I don’t. Then you fuck me into the table. Do you want me to draw you a diagram?” He propped himself up on an elbow and reached for Blake’s abandoned trousers. “That notebook must be-”

Blake grasped Avon’s cock to distract him from his feigned search and watched him collapse back onto the table. “I don’t need a diagram.” 

Avon’s eyelashes fluttered. “ _Prove it,_ ” he said, his voice a strange, harsh and desirable Avon-y cross between a demand and a plea. 

Suddenly desperate to kiss him again, Blake leant back up over him and Avon gave him a shove towards the closet edge of the table. “All right,” Blake protested, laughing. “I will.” He let go of Avon and climbed off the table, pulling his abandoned clothes with him. 

The crew-room floor was cold under his bare feet, but standing like this he had a good view of all of Avon – the half-removed tunic half-framing his shuddering chest and beneath that his hard red cock, pale thighs and long black boots. Blake pushed his own balled-up trousers and shirt under Avon’s legs, which had opened for him, and pulled his arse up onto the now-cushioned lip of the table. 

Briefly helpful, Avon handed him the lubricant again, but once it was in Blake’s hand Avon dug his fingers into the pot. The two of them fought briefly and headily over who would be the one to coat Blake’s erection, fingers sliding slickly over each other. 

“ _Avon-_ ”

“ _Blake,_ ” Avon echoed in the same dark, chiding tone, so Blake gave up and let him do it, rocking into the touch. Warmth began spreading through him. His own fingers were still slippery with lubricant, and, rather than wipe them, he pushed them back into Avon to make sure he was ready. Inside Avon was warm and soft and yielding, taking three fingers this time without resistance. It was going to be so easy to fuck him. 

Avon’s hand fell limply away and somewhere at the head of the table he groaned again, the noise sounding something like _oh_ or _yes_ or _Blake_ , or rather a combination of all of them. Avon’s ankle hooked back around Blake’s hip, drawing him closer. The leather was warm and exciting against his back. Avon’s boot heels dug into his arse. Blake withdrew his hand and moved forward, pressing his cock against the place his fingers had just abandoned. 

“Ready?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Avon hissed.

Blake gripped the top of Avon’s leg to steady himself and pushed in, past the tight ring of muscle. Avon tensed, the squeeze almost unbearably wonderful, and then he relaxed and Blake pulled back slightly only to thrust in more deeply. 

“ _Harder,_ ” Avon said, his voice cracking as he finally took all of Blake. 

“Give me a moment.”

“Now. _Harder_ , Blake,” Avon demanded and then his voice trailed off into sharp, staccato cries as Blake found his balance and began to pound into him. The table started an answering squeak of pain and pleasure, but it meant nothing next to the sound of Avon coming undone. 

On the table Avon was stretched out in front of him, one of his hands clenched around the edge of the table so hard that his knuckles were white. His throat was bared, his head flung back, inarticulate whimpers wrenching from his mouth. Avon’s legs closed around Blake more tightly and Blake felt captured and desired, even as it was he who was plundering Avon. 

Sweat was beading now over Blake’s body, his breath coming harder in his chest where his heart thudded. He was close, and Avon by the sounds of him was even closer. Perhaps, Blake thought headily, he should wait to bring Avon off until he was as lost as Avon, but even as he had this thought he closed his sweaty hand around Avon’s cock. A few strokes of his hand and Avon came with a sound like a man being flayed. His body tightened and quivered around Blake, who managed a few more thrusts before it was all too much and he felt his own orgasm crash through him. 

He collapsed forwards, bracing himself against the table. The ragged sounds of Avon catching his breath faded more quickly than the hammering in Blake’s head.

“Well,” Avon said, and Blake looked up to meet his gaze, “you were right. You didn’t need a diagram.” He started to laugh, the corners of his eyes creasing. 

Blake grinned. “I’m not completely incompetent,” he said, pulling out of Avon with a slight wince.

“I never said you were.”

“No, you merely implied it, that’s true.”

“I like to keep you on your toes,” Avon said lazily. If possible he looked even more desirable now than he had before Blake had fucked him – weakly wrung out, his own semen cooling on his chest as proof of what they had done together, and his hair and skin damp with exertion. “Literally, as well as metaphorically. That was a good angle. We should try it again. Later, once you’ve had a chance to recover.”

“When _I_ have,” Blake said, looking at the dishevelled Avon in front of him.

“That’s what I said. Do you have a problem with my analysis of the situation?”

“No,” Blake said fondly and climbed back onto the table, which this time creaked far too loudly and extravagantly to be ignored. 

“ _Blake_ ,” Avon shouted as the surface began to pitch, and then Blake found himself pulled to the floor, shielded by Avon’s body. There was an almighty bang as the underside of the table hit the floor, and then another as it cracked down the centre and the other half of the table fell backwards in the other direction. A light dusting of wood chips spattered the side of Blake’s body. 

When he turned his head back towards it, he saw that the legs under the edge closest to him had been jolted free of their supports during the sex. Presumably, Blake’s additional weight on that edge as he had climbed up had been enough to dislodge the legs permanently and bring the table that the others had made together crashing down. 

“ _Ah,_ ” he said guiltily. 

Next to him, Avon was staggering to his feet. “Come _on_ , Blake,” he said, fishing Blake’s clothes from the debris and throwing them at him. “We need to get out of here before someone comes to investigate what that was.”

Blake pulled his trousers on, grabbed his boots and followed Avon out, down the corridor at a run. It was as almost as though they were on a raid, Blake thought giddily, except he was shirtless and barefoot and Avon had left his trousers back in the crew room, and they were both laughing. 

19.  
Avon was explaining what had happened to the pool table when Blake wandered into the crew room the next morning. 

“-asked Zen to shield your cabins so you wouldn’t feel it. I... didn’t want to wake you.”

“Oh my god. What happened to the table?” Blake said.

Avon made a face that implied he’d overdone it a bit and covertly kicked yesterday’s abandoned trousers under a chair while the others were looking at Blake.

“Avon says there was some sort of turbulence during the night,” Gan explained from where he was kneeling by the table’s corpse. 

“Yes, of course,” Blake said. “Yes. I remember feeling it at- when was it, Avon? Two?”

“Four,” Avon said. 

“That’s right,” Blake said. “Four.”

“I was awake at four,” Jenna said. “I came to get a drink. And _I_ didn’t feel any turbulence.” Her raised eyebrow told Blake she’d seen the white marks on the baize and wouldn’t be convinced by any stories about how he’d spilled mayonnaise there during the fictional turbulence. He grimaced apologetically. 

“Spacer’s legs,” Avon said, smiling broadly. “I hear you can’t beat them.”

Blake and Jenna exchanged a look at the shamelessness of this response. The corner of her mouth twitched, and Blake knew she’d forgiven him and they could be a unit again when necessary.

“It’s a shame,” Gan said, standing up. He gave the table a sympathetic pat. “It was a nice thing, that table.” 

The others, too, were standing around solemnly as though they were at a funeral. The death of the table seemed to have once more drawn them together.

“Now I’ll never be able to win back that money from Jenna,” Vila said mournfully, and Blake sensed a way to turn this seeming-tragedy to a victory. 

“Don’t worry, Vila.” He slung an arm around Vila’s shoulders, and grinned as Vila looked up him. “I’ll help you all build another one.”


End file.
